


Sitting in the Palm Tree

by spikesgirl58



Series: ABBA/Foothills [77]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:04:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya and Matt have vanished and Napoleon fears that THRUSH may have at last caught up with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sitting in the Palm Tree

\--- bonniejean1953 wrote:

Illya woke slowly, his body feeling impossibly heavy and useless.  His head ached and his stomach was dancing to a beat of its very own.  He could hear someone or something whimpering and it was that soul-wrenching sound that made him finally open his eyes. 

His arms were tied behind him and he was stretched out on a dirty mattress.  The drip of water, the cold clammy air told him this was some sort of basement, possibly that of an old jail, which littered the small Foothills towns.   There was a single door with a barred window in it.  Beyond that was dark.  Obviously their captors were either gone or asleep.

 _Oh, just like the good old days, which weren’t always that good,_ he thought, struggling to get upright.  He squinted around the room.  The dim light made it hard to see anything, especially without his contacts in.  He finally spotted a figure, curled into a fetus position a few feet away.  There was something familiar…

“Napoleon?” he croaked out and the figure stirred.

“No, _Cara_ , it’s me,” Matt answered.  “They told me you were dead.”  Matt turned towards him.  Illya could see dark circles under the redhead’s eyes, apparent even without much light. 

“I’m harder to kill than they think,” Illya murmured sitting up.  “What’s going on, Matt?  _Che cosa è successo_ (What happened) _?_ _”_   He switched to Italian in case they were being bugged.

“ _Non lo so_ (I don’t know).”   Matt crawled on his hands and knees to Illya’s side.  There were smudges of dirt across his face as if he’d been wiping his eyes.  “They thought they had given you too much either.”

“You mean ether?”

“ _Si, Si,_ that’s it.”

“But why would anyone…?  Matt, you need to think.  What were these men like?”

“Um, nothing special, although one has a nice ass.  Not as good as Rocky’s…”  Matt trailed off.  “O, _Cara_ , will I ever see my beloved Rocky again?”

Illya twisted in an effort to wiggle his arms beneath him, but the days of being that limber were behind him, literally in this case.   He turned him back to his fellow chef.  “Matt, can you untie my hands?”

 _“Si, si.”_   

“Why aren’t you tied up like me?” Illya asked as Matt worked on the cord.

“They said you were the dangerous one.  Are you dangerous, _Cara_?”

“You’ve been in bed with me, you tell me.”

“Not so dangerous as… _calcolato_.”  Matt undid the knot and loosened the ropes.

“Calculating works for me.”  Illya gritted his teeth as he brought his arms forward.  He didn’t remember it hurting this much back in the day.  “At least you answered my first question as to who did this.  Or rather who didn’t.  It’s not THRUSH.”

“No, these were men, not birds.”

“And we will be thankful for that.  Still, the questions remains - who and why?”

“I don’t know.  These men, they are not good.”

Illya smiled and nodded.  “No they aren’t, but they also don’t have the faintest idea who they are dealing with.”

“You mean you, _Cara_?”

“I mean Napoleon.”

                                                                                *****

Rocky hurried into the tasting room of _Vinea_ and looked around.  He spotted Napoleon amid a crowd of people.  There were several bottles lined up and even more glasses.   He waved to Napoleon and Napoleon nodded his excusal to his group.  He paused, murmuring into the ear of a young woman who took his place at the tasting bar.

“Yes, Rocky?”

“Chief, have you seen Matty or Chef?  It’s nearly time to open and they are both AWOL.”

“What?” Napoleon glanced at his watch.  “That late?  Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Illya all day.”

Napoleon walked back to his office and waited for Rocky to join him.  He closed the door to the babble of voices from Vinea and sat down.

Closing his eyes, he played back the day.

 

Napoleon walked into the kitchen, whistling a jaunty tune.  They’d had a particularly lovely time this morning and he didn’t have a care in the world.  There was something to be said for having just one sex partner, especially if said partner was Illya.

Illya was reading the paper, his glasses sliding down to the tip of his nose.  He pushed them back and sniffled.

“Allergies getting the better of you?”  Napoleon suspected as much when he saw Illya’s contacts untouched this morning. 

“Love the location, hate the allergies.”  He smiled as Napoleon kissed his cheek.  “That was nice this morning.”

“I thought so as well.”  Napoleon poured some coffee into his cup and then helped himself to Illya’s untouched toast.  “Anything new?”

“They want to raise the local sales tax to pay for a new road.  Opposition said it’s to benefit the casino, so the tribe should pay for it.  I think I agree.  Oh, and your old friend is in the news.”

“Old friend?”

“Remember Cliff Jensen?”

“How could I forget him?”

“Well, apparently he’s had to pull out of the race for the senate.”

“Why?  What happened?”

“It’s been reported that Cliff has been getting a little on the side.  The kicker is that it’s the daughter of his campaign manager.  She’s only seventeen.  His wife has filed for divorce, his backers are fleeing the proverbial ship like rats and now there’s talk of embezzlement. “

“Whoopsie…”  Napoleon smirked.  “Couldn’t happen to a better guy.  Jackson was much improved when he turned tail and ran back to Sacramento.”

“I thought the air had a nice smell.”  Illya snuffled again and coughed.  He reached for a clean tissue.

 “What are your plans for today... besides blowing your nose?”

“We are meeting up with a new dealer.  He is offering some local produce at unheard of prices and I think it’s a case of too good to be true, but Matt is excited about it.  He thinks we need to do more with locally produced vegetables and fruits and I agree. “

“Home for lunch?”

“Nope, Matt promised me lunch at Harris Apple Farm and you know how I love their fries.  We’re going over on Highway 16, so it will be on the way home.”

“Is it the quality or quantity?”

“A bit of both.”  Illya watched Napoleon polish off the last of his toast and smiled affectionately at the man.  “Seeing as I’m going without breakfast, it will be a win-win for me.”

“I can make you more.”

“No, that’s fine.  We should be home around two, three at the latest since I’m cooking tonight.”

“Highway 16?  Placerville?”

“Pollock Pines, if you can believe that.”

“That seems like quite a drive for nothing.”

Illya shrugged his shoulders and then offered Napoleon a sly smile.  “Are you jealous?”

“More like envious.  I’d like to take a day off for a joyride.”

“Remind me of this when you are sitting and relaxing with a glass of wine tonight and I am slaving away over a hot stove.”

Napoleon laughed, kissed Illya and watched him walk out of the house.  “Drive carefully.”

“Always.  Love you.”

“Love you more.”

                                                                                ****

“He said they would be home by three at the latest,” Napoleon said to Milt, the local sheriff, early the next morning.  Normally, he was reluctant to bring in any outside law enforcement, but they weren’t the men they used to be.  However, it was possible that THRUSH had caught wind of them and if that was the case, Napoleon could use all the help he could get.

“Well, it’s too early to file a missing persons report, but as this is Chef, I’ll have my officers keep an eye out.”

Napoleon handed Milt a description and license plate number of Illya’s truck.  “Thanks, Milt.  I owe you one.”

“Well, the way I see it, Jackson owes the two of you a lot more.  I’ll do what I can, Napoleon.”

“Thanks.”  Napoleon watched the man walk away, but he wasn’t hopeful.  If Illya had been in an accident, he’d have called at his first opportunity or a hospital would have.   He got up and looked out the front door at the ‘Closed’ sign on Taste’s front door.  He’d opened Vinea out of practice, but his mind wasn’t there and he’d excused himself the first moment he got.

Rubbing his eyes, he turned back and flopped onto the couch.  He’d not slept much last night, his ears attuned up for the sound of tires on gravel.  Two or three times vehicles passed and Napoleon’s heart leapt, but to no avail.  Napoleon knew Illya was alive.  He just hoped the man stayed that way until Napoleon could find him.

                                                                                ****

 

Illya massaged his temple and tried to think back.  The drive to Placerville had been without incident.  It was a beautiful fall day and they’d driven with the windows open.

Pulling into the driveway of an old barn-like structure, a tingle raced down Illya’s spine and he frowned, unable to figure out what was wrong. 

He’d climbed out of the truck and walked to a door.  There was a blur of movement and he started to react, but he was slow.  There was something clamped over his mouth and nose and he woke up here.

“Matt, did they drug you?”

“ _Si_.  I wouldn’t come quietly, so they drug me along.”

“Matt, that’s dragged.  I meant did they give you something that knocked you out, like me?”

“Ah _,_ _scusi_.  No, they did point a very large knife and a very small gun at me and it was enough.”

“Matt, I swear I’m going to get you out of this, but you are going to have to trust me.”

Matt smiled.  “I always have.”

“Then follow my lead.”

There was a noise at the door and Illya gestured towards Matt’s mattress.  He flung himself down on his, remembering at the last minute to hide the rope underneath it.  He tucked his arms behind his back and hoped they wouldn’t look too quickly.

The door opened and two men walked in.  Illya instantly knew they weren’t THRUSH.  They didn’t have that look about them.  In fact, they seemed vaguely familiar.

“You’re awake.”  The darker of the pair had an accent.  It wasn’t Spanish, but close.  He carried himself with confidence and Illya suspected that he and Matt were not the man’s first job.   The second man was thick and stocky, but still looked plenty dangerous.  Illya never underestimated his opponents, but they frequently misjudged him. 

“No thanks to you,” Illya muttered.  

“You are going to wish you were still asleep.”

“Why’s that?”

“We’re gonna send your lover boy a keepsake.”  The man held up a cleaver.  “You wanna keep your left hand or your right?”

“Why me?  Why not him?”  Illya indicated Matt with a sharp nod of his head.  Matt gasped in horror.

“I cannot believe you would do that to me!  _Che_ _un_ _amico_ (What a friend)!”

“This is war, Matt, and I need my hands.”

 _“Non credo che_ _si_ (I do not believe you)!”  Matt took a step towards Illya and the shorter goon moved to intercept him.

That was enough for Illya.  He sprang up off the mattress and caught the man’s midsection, taking them both into the opposite wall.  He heard a noise behind him and hoped Matt was taking care of the other thug.  He hated violence, having once been nearly beaten to death by a group of gay-bashing idiots.  Hated violence, but got his black belt in judo to protect himself.  Illya sparred with him on a regular basis.  Sadly, no one has seen fit to warn these two of that.

The man tried to hit Illya with the cleaver but Illya caught the wrist and twisted it.  He wasn’t in as good of shape as when he was with UNCLE, but he was still strong and he was still very dangerous.   The man grunted and Illya took the opportunity to knee him in the stomach.

His opponent dropped the cleaver and Illya scooped it up, slamming the flat of the blade down onto the man’s head.  He went to the floor for the count.  Only when he was certain the man was out, did Illya look over towards Matt.   Matt had the other man face down on the floor and was applying pressure to the man’s shoulder with his foot while twisting the arm.

Illya trotted over to his mattress, dug out the rope and quickly hogtied his man.  The other was moaning and crying out as Matt kept the pressure on.

“Okay, now we are going to talk.”

“I ain’t gonna say anything.”

“Fine with me.  Matthew, dislocate his arm and then we’ll try again.  I’ve got all night.”

”No, wait,” the man shouted as Matt began to apply pressure.  “I don’t know who hired us.  He talked just to Alfie and Alfie hired me.  All I know is that it was some big shot guy from Sacramento.”

“I see.  Well, we’ll have to wait for Alfie to wake up then, won’t we?”  Illya gripped the man’s neck and he went limp.

“Is he dead?”

“No.  He’d be no use to us then.  See if you can find something to tie him up with, like a belt.”

Within a few minutes, the man was as securely bound as his friend and well across the small room.

“What do you do now, _Cara_?  Escape?”

“If we do, we won’t find out who sent them.  These two are just small potatoes. I want to know who had the gall to try this.”

“Please, no food references, Chef.  I am starving.”  Matt’s stomach rumbled at the comment and Illya smiled.

“I know what you mean.  Let’s tie this guy up and see what we can find.  Maybe they will have a phone and we can call Napoleon or Rocky.”

“That would be good.  _Cara?_ ”

“Yes, Matt?”

“You were not going to let them cut my hand off, _si_?”

“Of course not.  I wouldn’t let anyone harm one curly hair on your head.”  Illya caught Matt in a rough hug.  “Do you know how special you are to me?”

“I had hoped…”

“Come along, Matt. I’ve got my eye on a bigger prize than these two.”

Illya tripled checked his knots and then cautiously led the way out.  He was worried that there might be more bad guys around, but the coast was clear. 

On the table was a box all prepared for shipping, complete with an ice pack.  There was a knock.  “Hello?  You called for a pick up?”

“Matt, stall him.”  Illya smiled an evil Illya-Kuryakin-has-a-wicked-idea smile.  “I’ve got an idea.”

                                                                                ****

 

The phone rang and Napoleon snatched up the phone.  “Hello?  Illya?”

“Not exactly.”  The voice had a synthesized sound to it and Napoleon’s face grew cold.  “But I have what you want, Solo.  In fact, you should be receiving a little package addressed to you in a few minutes.  You said Kuryakin was your right hand man, well, now you will have his right hand.  I’ll keep the rest of him… for now.

“What do you want?”

“A million in untraceable bills by noon tomorrow.”

Napoleon’s mind was racing.  “I’ll need some time to pull that much money together.”

“By noon or come the evening you’ll be getting another bit of your lover.  Wait long enough and you can put him back together just like a big jigsaw puzzle.  Of course, he’ll be dead by then, but no matter.  Tomorrow noon, Solo.”

The line went dead just as there was a knock at the door.  Napoleon walked to it in a daze and opened it.  The courier smiled at him.

“I have a package for Mr. Solo.”

“That would be me.”

“Okay, sign here for me.”

The man snatched the clipboard away as soon as Napoleon got the last letter of his name out.  Touching his forehead, the courier trotted back to his vehicle and took off.

With trembling hands, Napoleon carried the box back to the desk and sat it down.  For a moment, he hesitated opening it.  Illya’s hand.  What kind of monster would chop off an artist’s hand?

He tore the package open and glanced inside.  Then he started to laugh, then cry, then do both at the same time.

Inside was a meat cleaver and a note in Illya’s handwriting.

_Napoleon,_

_This is supposed to be my hand.  As you can tell, they have, once again, underestimated us.  Play along, but do not fear.  Tell Rocky Matt is fine.  This is very big, but not THRUSH._

_Illya_

Napoleon let out a long relieved breath.  Illya was alive, playing the game and apparently in control.  He reached for the phone and dialed a number, hoping that his name still meant something.

“Masque Club, this is Mandy.  How may I direct your call?”

“Hello, Mandy, this is Napoleon Solo.  I need to speak with my uncle.”

There was a pause and Napoleon grimaced, afraid that his luck might have finally run out.

“Mr. Solo?  Just a moment and I will put you through.”

There was a series of clicks.  Napoleon knew the call was being recorded, but he didn’t care.  Eventually a voice came on the line that was vaguely familiar.

“Mr. Solo, this is Ann Samuelson, how may I help you?”

Napoleon studied the package on the desk.  “Hello, Ms. Samuelson, I need to call in a favor.”

                                                                                ****

Potato chips and soda were not much of a meal to Illya Kuryakin’s way of thinking, but it was at least something in his belly and it was better than the stale bread and warm water that had apparently been slated for their dinner.  He would give that to Tim later.  Illya wiped his greasy fingers on his already dirty jeans and licked his lips. 

“What do we do now, _Cara_?”  Matt tipped the bag up and let the few remaining crumbs tumble into his mouth.

“I’m not sure, but I think I’d like to go talk to our guests again.  They should both be awake by now.”

They walked back to the room and Illya held up a hand.  “Stay out here until I’m sure they are both still secured.”

Illya had no cause to fear.  Both men were right where he’d left them, although Alfie was still unconscious and Illya frowned as he touched him.  Then he shrugged his shoulders.

“You can come in, Matt.”

Matt walked in, carrying himself with a sense of purpose.  “We question this one now?”  He nudged Alfie with his foot.

“We could, but he’s not going to talk.”

“What do you mean?”

“Unless he gets medical help in a short time, he will be dead before he wakes up.”

“Bastard,” the remaining bad guy shouted and Illya knelt beside the struggling man.

“You have the power to help him.  Tell me what I want to know.  I think that’s a fair price considering what the two of you had planned for us.”

“I don’t know nothing.”

“Ah, but a double negative indicates a positive, which means you do.”

“Huh?”

Illya shook his head as he hauled the man into an upright position.  “You know, they used to make villains with a bit larger brain pan in my day.”  Illya rubbed his hands together.  “We’ll start with something easy, but each wrong answer will result in something most unpleasant for you.”

“How unpleasant?”

“Very… unpleasant.  Let us start.  What is your name?”

“They call me Tim... The Mangler.”  He puffed up his chest and Illya merely smirked. 

“Well, you do look slightly mangled, my friend.  So, tell me, Tim, what did Alfie tell you about this job?  And, remember, most… unpleasant.” 

“I told you the truth.  Alfie called me up and said he had a job.  He picked me because some of the details were a little gruesome.”  Tim’s lip curled into a sneer.  “The guy wanted us to chop you into bits and send them back to your fag lover.  He said we could do what we wanted with the other queer.”

Illya’s hands were a blur as they caught and quickly dislocated one of Tim’s fingers.  He howled in protest.

“What the hell did you do that for,” Tim cried.  “I told you the truth.”

“Let’s try again and without the derogatory comments as I am in no mood for them.”  Illya glanced quickly over at Matt.  “And neither is he and he is much more dangerous than I am.  You see, some of his family is M _afeoso_.  Isn’t that right, Matt?”

” _Si, Cara,_ _uomini_ _molto_ _pericolosi_ (very dangerous men).”  Matt cracked his knuckles and managed to look menacing.  Illya fought to keep from smiling.

“And as for me, well, perhaps you’ve heard of the group I work for.  It’s full name is _Комитет государственной безопасности_ , but that’s such a mouthful that most people just refer to it by its initials – KGB.”  Illya let his Russian accent out to play.  He smiled wickedly and reached for Tim’s other hand. You may have heard of us, so you know I am not one givien to playing games.  Who hired you?”

“I’m not lying.  It was some big shot in Sacramento.”

“Why would a big shot in Sacramento want to harm me?”

“Not you, your fa... your partner,” Tim amended quickly.  “Alfie said he wanted him to suffer for all the harm he’d caused and you two were his soft spot.”

“ _Perché_ (Why) _?_ ” Matt asked.

“I’m not a mindreader!” Tim snapped.  “Speak American!”

“He wants to know why and so do I.  Why would anyone want to hurt Napoleon?  He is generous with his time and his money.  He stopped being dangerous a long time ago.”

“I don’t know.  Something that happened eariler this year...”

“Matt, what did Napoleon do earlier this year?”

“I do not recall...”  Then Matt’s mouth dropped open just as Illya snapped his fingers.  Together they both said, “Cliff.”

                                                                                ****

The phone rang and Napoleon stared at the instrument for a moment.  The UNCLE agent, an impossibly young man by the name of Nathanial Lopez nodded and clicked on the machine he had secured to the phone.

“H-hello?”  He let just a bit of quaver reach his voice.

“Where is my money, Solo?”

“I tried, but the banks didn’t have enough on hand.  They are wiring it from Sacramento.  I just need a little more time.”

“Sorry, Solo.  You know what’s going to happen.  I have to give you a hand, though.”  There was a nasty chuckle.  “Oh, wait, I already did.  Wait until you see what’s coming next.”

“Please, God, I’m trying as hard as I can.”  Lopez gave Napoleon a thumbs up.

“Then try harder.  Oh, and the price has gone up.  Two million by five tonight.”

Napoleon let his voice break into a sob.  “Please..”

“Why should I show you mercy?  You showed me none.”  The connection was broken.

“Okay, what do you have?”  Napoleon’s grief stricken voice of a moment ago was gone and replaced with a no-nosense, hard-edged tone.

“He’s calling from somewhere in Sacramento.”  Lopez worked the buttons on the keyboard and an address popped up.  “Looks like it’s close to the corner of G and 11th street.”  He reached for a slender box.  “Open Channel D, please.”  He glanced over at a grinning Napoleon.  “What?”

Napoleon let his head dip for a moment.  So many half remembered memories were cascading in his head. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve heard that phrase.”

 

                                                                                ****

The phone rang and Matt jumped, then pointed.  “ _Cara_ , what do we do?”

“What do you usually do with a phone, Matt?  You answer it.”  Illya cleared his throat, closed his eyes for a moment and then snatched up the receiver.  “What?” he asked in a good mimic of the dead Alfie’s voice.

“Solo is holding out.  We need to send him another reminder.”  Illya recognized Cliff’s voice.

“His other hand?”

“His dick.  I’m sure that will leave a lasting impression on Solo.  I will send the courier to you.”  The phone went dead as Illya’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s wrong, _Cara_?”

“Cliff wants me to cut off my own dick and send it to Napoleon.”  Instead, Illya dialled a number.

“Solo here.”

“Napoleon.”

“Thank God, Illya.”  Napoleon’s relieved voice was music to Illya’s ears.

“I don’t know if this call is traced, but it’s Cliff.  We are still okay, but he needs to be stopped.”

“UNCLE’s on it.”  Napoleon’s end of the call dropped off and Illya took a deep breath.

“What did he say?”

“He’s called in our former employer to help.”

“The KGB?”  Matt’s eyes were wide with fear.

“Worse – he called UNCLE.”

The phone rang again and Illya frowned.  “That can’t be Napoleon.  That only leaves...”  He again picked up the receiver.  “What?”

“Who were you talking to?”

“No one. Tim knocked the receiver over.  No balls that one.”

“Have you done anything yet?”

“No.”

“Then wait.  I’m on my way to you.  I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”  Cliff hung up.

“What do we do now?”

“We wait.”

                                                                                ****

Napoleon watched Lopez as he held the communicator to his mouth.  Lopez nodded and gestured to Napoleon.  “The agents watching Jensen report that he’s on the move.  They are following and will be send me their coordinates.  You want to come along for the ride?”

Napoleon nodded enthusiastically.  “If I canbring some friends.”

“As long as they can get here in five minutes.”

“They will.”  Napoleon trotted over to Taste and opened the door.  “We found Matt and Illya.  Who wants to come?”

When he stepped out onto their small porch with four other men, Lopez grinned.  “I like the cut of your jib, Solo.”

“I’m nothing if not prepared.  Let’s go.”

                                                                                ****

 

Illya shut the door behind him and sighed.  “Well, Alfie has shuffled off his mortal coil.  Tim doesn’t seem to care one way or the other.”

“Not so close friends, I think.”  Matt stretched and twisted at the waist.  He paused.  “I hear a car approaching.”

Illya went to a tiny window and nodded.  “It’s Cliff.”

“What do we do?”

“Hide.”  Illya looked around.  That was easier said than done.  There was nothing in the room except the table, two chairs, and an assortment of weapons.   Illya pointed to a dark corner.  “Over there.”

Cliff entered and headed straight for the locked door.  He opened it and walked in.  Illya rushed to slam it shut behind him.

“What the hell?”

“Surprise,” Illya said, turning the key in the lock and removing the key.  He kept to the side of the small barred window in the door.

“Who?  Kuryakin?” Cliff’s face appeared in the window as Illya stepped away and waggled his fingers at him.

“Hello, Cliff.  You really need to hire a better class of hitmen.”

“You son of a...”

“Or know who you are dealing with.  Research is a grand thing, Cliff.  You will have plenty of time to think about that where you are headed.”

“I am not headed anywhere.  I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Oh, I think you might be incorrect about that.  Not only did you kidnap us, but you made the mistake of messing with the wrong man.  Napoleon Solo is not who he appears.”

“And why’s that?”

“You see, Napoleon has a very long and distinguished career before he moved out to California.  In fact, we both did.  Have you ever heard of UNCLE?”

“UNCLE?

“United Network Command for Law and Enforcement.  We were their top agents before coming here.”The door burst open and three very determined looking UNCLE agents entered, followed by a if-looks-could-kill Napoleon and four equally angry Taste employees.  Illya grinned with relief.  “Big, big mistake not turning that rock over, Cliff.”

 

                                                                                ****

Illya relaxed in Napoleon’s arms.  Napoleon’s breath tickled the nape of his neck.  “It feels good to be in my own bed again.  I’m too old to sleep on the floor.”

Napoleon’s embrace tightened.  “I’m just relieved this had a good outcome.”

“Well, I may be older, but I’m still an UNCLE agent.”

“Yes, they were talking to me about that.  They want you to come in for deprogramming.”

“Not as long as there are fools like Cliff in the world.  My memories were my weapons this time and I’m not about to become some toothless has-been.”  Illya kept his voice firm, but gentle. 

Even so, the words hurt. “Is that how you see me?” 

“Of course not,” Illya quickly amended.  “It’s how I see me becoming.  I’m not ready to surrender that part of my life yet.”

“They can’t make you, not anymore, but when you are ready, they are, too.”

“I’m sorry you were worried.”

“Had I known it was a mere case of kidnapping, I wouldn’t have worried.  I thought you’d gotten into an accident or something.  The idea of you lying in a ditch bleeding and injured... I thought I had lost you again.”

Illya rolled over and faced Napoleon.  “I can’t promise that we will be together forever, Napoleon, but I swear I will give you every day I have left, willingly and without condition.”

Napoleon smiled and kissed Illya’s forehead.  “Right back at you, _Amante_.”

And again together as they surely must be,  the partners slept.

 


End file.
